The Boost
by LastChaos
Summary: The power the Dark Lord know's not: love? As if. Only power can destory power, and Harry has inherited a very interesting power from his father's side of the family. Lily and James planned ahead to give their son an edge that might just be enough.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter, Owen Deathstalker or anyone else I may steal my ideas from in the future.

It had been one of those weeks. There's your average week where all you do is go about your normal routine: sleep eat work school play. Then there's those weeks where you wake up on Monday thinking it's just another mediocre week, then on Friday you find yourself in Africa half naked with nothing but pocket lint and 5 dollars wondering how the hell you ended up in a third world country in the middle of a civil war without your passport yet still retaining that school ID from freshmen year you tried to bury because of the funny looking haircut you got from that pretty girl who aspired to become a hairdresser that you had a crush on.

For 11 year old Harry Potter, it had been one of those weeks. Monday had left him with nothing to look forward to other then the fact that he was going to a low rate middle school with a retarded looking uniform a one eyed leper homeless nun could tell was a fake his dear aunt Petunia had dyed from Dudley's old castoffs. And then the letter had come, a mysterious invitation addressed to Harry that had started off a chain of events that later led them to fleeing the mail filled home on Private drive onto a deserted shack in the middle of the ocean.

Harry wasn't exactly half naked in Africa, but currently he was riding in a mining cart hurtling at over freeway speed limit next to a goblin, a squat ugly little lizardtoid with a permanent scowl fixed on a face a mother couldn't love, in front of a motion sick giant that had rescued him from the clutches of the Dursleys. But hey, it was only Thursday, and who knows, by Friday our young hero may very well be in Africa without his shirt on.

Turning slightly so that he faced the goblin, Harry shouted over the rushing wind to get the goblin's attention. "How far down are we?"

"Let's just say Mr. Potter, if you were to fall off this cart and survive, you won't be finding your way to the surface any time soon."

If possible, Hagrid turned an even queerer shade of green. If the man were to puke, or blow chunks if you prefer, most likely Harry and the goblin would find themselves swimming in a cart full of bile and whatever Hagrid had eaten the night before. Nasty thought.

Finally after what seemed like an eternity of twists and turns and even backing up twice, the rickety cart lurched to a halt in front of a majestic looking iron door that wouldn't have looked out of place in the Queen's palace, guarding the entryway to the WC. The giant man behind Harry made a strange gurgling noise before diving to the side of the cart and releasing the contents of his stomach onto the tracks. When a normal man hurled, you would heard odd retching noises and disgusting splatter followed by gasping noises as the poor bastard tried to catch his breath. Hagrid made a noise similar to toilet being flushed, and followed up with the unpleasant stomach turning sound of a fire hose splattering chunky stew onto concrete. It was only through sheer willpower that Harry and the goblin did not follow Hagrid's example and dive over the to the side of the cart.

Hastily exiting the transport so as to avoid having to be so near the unpleasant noise Hagrid was making, Harry and the goblin hurried toward the locked door, both trying to think pleasant thoughts and ignoring the dying animal sound the giant man they had left behind was currently making.

The goblin stepped forward as they approached the door and snapped his long fingers, causing the nearby torches to light up with a cheery flame.

"Key please."

"I think Hagrid has it."

"…" Even this far away from the cart, they could both still clearly make out the sound of stomach fluids hitting pavement.

The emerald goblin shook his head and strode forward so that he was facing the door. "I guess we can do it the old fashion way, but I will have to take a bit of your blood."

Harry stared down at the goblin for a moment weighing his choices. On one hand, god knows how much blood the little monster was going to take from him and with the medieval conditions he has observed of the wizarding world so far, most likely it would involve a blade of some sort. Yet on the other hand, he would have to go back to a currently very sick Hagrid and try to fish the key out of the man's many pockets without getting stomach stew on himself. Shaking his head, the raven haired boy put his hand forward causing the goblin to chuckle.

"A most wise decision Mr. Potter." The short lizardtoid stroked the door with the tip of his finger causing the door to glow and eerie shade of lavender. Reaching into his pocket, he (Well Harry thought it was a he, but then again he had no idea what a female goblin looked like) withdrew a wicked looking dagger and snatched Harry's hand and pricked the thumb before the boy could protest. Wincing slightly at the minor laceration on his digit, Harry watched with interest as the goblin pressed the side of the blade damp with blood against the door and spat out a few words in the goblin tongue. At once, the entryway stopped glowing and a number of faint clicks could be heard from behind the closed entrance. After the noise faded away, the doors lurched open, slowly parting to allow entry into whatever lay within.

Seeing the goblin motion for him to go in first, Harry shrugged and crept in cautiously. Years of being ambushed by Dudley and his gang had left Harry paranoid about going anywhere without first checking the surroundings, especially a room he could be cornered in without escape.

Once inside, all other thoughts simply ceased as he took in the piles of gold and silver that lay in mounds on the floor. Trying to grasp the fact that this was all his, Harry finally came to the conclusion that he was fucking rich. Picking up one of the gold coins, Harry stared down into the face of a regal looking man who stared back sternly. Harry knew that the British monarchy preferred to press the face of their queen onto their coins, so this man whoever he was must be of some great importance to wizarding society; perhaps Merlin? Shaking the thoughts out of his head, he turned to look at the goblin that was standing by the entrance tapping its booted foot impatiently..

"What's the currency exchange rate and what are these called?"

Startled by the fact that the young wizarding hero didn't even know the basic currency of the world he saved, the goblin stared back in silence for a moment as if seeing Harry in a new light.

"The gold coins are called galleons. The silver ones are sickles. The brass coins with a hole in the middles are knuts. Ten sickles to a galleon and ten knuts to a sickle. I trust you know enough math to derive the value of knuts to galleons?"

Ignoring the gibe towards his intelligence Harry continued his line of questions. "And to muggle currency?"

"Hmm, currently the knut is valued to be around 1 pound, and of course the muggle world has multiple currencies for different country, and whatever the exchange rate for their bills to the pound, that is how much the wizarding money is worth."

Staring down at the thousands of Galleons before him, Harry had a hard time wrapping his mind around how much money his parents had left him. There must have been over a million pounds in here just from the Galleons alone. He was set for life.

"And this is all mine?"

"Yes of course, this was the schooling account your parents set up for you so that you would have access to money in case they were to pass away. It should be more than enough to hold you out until you reach the age where you can claim your family vault and take over the title of Lord Potter."

"Family Vault? Title?" Harry was becoming more confused with each word that came out of the goblin's sneering mouth.

"Do you honestly know nothing about yourself Mr. Potter?"

Seeing the curious rather than mocking look in the goblin's eyes, Harry decided to throw caution to the wind and pump as much information out of the little green monster as possible, dignity be damned.

"I grew up with my muggle relatives who have nothing to do with the wizarding world. I didn't even know I was a wizard until yesterday!"

The curious light had gone out of the goblin's eyes, and instead a calculating look came across his face as he eyed the boy in front of him. Here was the wizarding world's savior, who did not know a thing about the world he saved, untainted by the prejudices of the mass, and soon one day to be the holder of the title Lord Potter, one of the most powerful houses in Wizangot. This was a chance for the goblin's to make a powerful ally whose family's fortune could make the goblin nation a lot of money.

"Listen closely because I'm not going to repeat myself. You are the last heir to the noble house of Potter, one of the 13 most powerful and influencel families in the wizarding world. These thirteen families were originally clans of wizards in days gone past who had band together to form formidable alliances. Generations of marrying between the clan members made them all family and these 13 families are the oldest in the world, predating even the Hogwarts founders. They all hold seats in the Wizangot, the wizarding world's international court I suppose that decide on all matters that affect the wizarding world. Your family along with the 12 others holds the most votes in court, meaning one day when you claim the title of Lord Potter, you will be helping make decisions that will shape the entire wizarding world."

Harry's mind spun as he took in everything the goblin was saying. He was an 11 year old boy who got the crap beaten out of him by his cousin's gang every other day. How was he supposed to help shape the world he had just discovered yesterday?

Seeing the look of shock and confusion the green eyed boy's face, the goblin took pity on him.

"You won't be able to take the title of Lord Potter until you are 17, the legal adult age in the wizarding world, so you will have time to adjust to your position and hopefully educate yourself enough so as not to make too many stupid mistakes that would cripple our world."

"And the family vault?"

"Ah yes, being one of the oldest families in the wizarding world, means you are also one of the richest. The majority of the money made by the Potter's of the past are all put into the family vault, as is the ring that signifies your position as Lord Potter, and a number of other family heirlooms, but you won't be able to access that vault until you are of age. Needless to say, your family vault makes the money here look like a bad tip to a particularly ugly looking waiter."

A shadow loomed over the goblin by the entrance, and in walked Hagrid, who now sported a lighter shade of green on his face, though his shirt seemed to have changed from brown to a greenish looking tan. "Sorry about that, you got what you need Harry?"

"Err not yet." Turning around, the boy began stuffing gold down into his pockets before realizing there had to be a better way.

"I don't suppose one of you has a bag with you?"

Hagrid scratched his slightly wet looking beard and shrugged. "Sorry Harry, didn think to bring one wit me."

The boy looked imploringly at the goblin next to the giant.

"Gringotts provides bags of the magical nature for a cost of course. We have the Endless Bag for 5 sickles. The Endless Bag of Security that keys only to the blood of the user so that anyone else would only reach in and find an empty bag for 2 galleons, and of course the particularly nasty Endless Bag of Biting which only the keyed owner can find money in without losing their hand to the bag for 5 galleons. "

"Uhh…I'll take the endless bag of security."

"A most wise choice Mr. Potter." Reaching into his pocket the goblin pulled out a rather dull looking coin pouch that one might find in a dumpster with either puke or shit inside it. "Simply reach in and think about what you wish to withdraw and if there is the amount inside you will find it. To find out how much money is left, simply put your hand into the bag and think that question and the answer will find itself in your mind."

"So by endless you mean I can put all the money in here into the bag?"

"Oddly enough as the name might imply, no. The bag itself can't take more than 30 pounds in weight."

"So why's it called the endless bag?"

"Well certainly the bag that can only hold 30 pounds doesn't sound as impressive." The goblin had a point thought Harry. "Of course the bags can be upgraded for a nominal fee, for each extra pound of weight we charge a sickle."

"It's fine." Taking the dingy looking bag from the goblin, Harry stared down at it unimpressed. He had serious doubt this thing could hold 30 pounds; most likely the goblin was ripping him off. Knowing he had no way to verify how much he was putting into the bag, the boy shrugged it off and began cramming as much coins into the bag as possible. And oddly enough, no matter how much he put in, the bag seemed to remain empty. Finally after pressing in countless coins, the bag began to fill. Seeing that the endless enchantment had come to a halt, Harry decided to try out the feature the goblin had told him about. Placing his right hand into the bag, he wondered how much money was in it.

And like magic, the answer was suddenly in his head. 123 galleons 217 sickles 193 knuts. Magic was the coolest thing in the world. Turning around, he took one last look around the vault before heading towards the door.

"Ay Harry, I think there's a something over there for you over by the back of your vault." Turning around, Harry looked towards where Hagrid was pointing at, and indeed half buried under a mound of knuts was what appeared to be a sheet of parchment.

Excitement bubbled in the pit of Harry's stomach as he stared at the piece of paper with mounting hope. Perhaps after all these years, he would at last have confirmation of who his parents were. Practically sprinting over, the boy reverently pulled out the folded sheet of parchment, staring down at the slightly yellow looking paper. Carefully unfolding it, as if it may crumble to dust with the lightest touch, his eyes were met with the sight of a moving photo. Tears welled up in his eyes as for the first time he saw a picture of his parents.

Rubbing the tears away, Harry allowed his eyes to drink in the sight of his parents, the people he had wondered and yearned about for so many years. His mother was a beautiful redhead whose smile seemed to brighten the very photo, and here and there sprinkled across her face were a few freckles. Just from the photo alone, Harry could tell he had inherited his mother's vibrant green eyes and nose structure. In her arms, carefully wrapped in a red and gold blanket with a lion printed across it was a sleeping baby; him. Standing next to her with his arms wrapped around his mother lovingly was his father, and there could be no mistaking who he was; they were practically carbon copies of each other! The only difference between Harry and James was the fact that Harry's eyes were green, and his nose was had a slightly different makeup. Perched on the man's nose was a pair of thin wired glasses, and his wild messy hair was an exact replica of Harry's. The dazzling smile on his father's face was only matched by his mother's, and both his parents beamed up at him. Rubbing the photo with his thumb, Harry smiled down through tear filled eyes. Here was the proof that he had always wanted, that his parents had loved him, the very thing the Dursleys had never given Harry. And to him, it was enough to know that his parents had loved him with all their heart. Placing the photo carefully into his pocket, he unfolded the letter wondering what his parents had to say to him.

Immediately he could tell two people had written the letter, the handwriting differed as night and day. One was thin and spidery while the other was thick and loopy. Harry sat down on the pile of gold, lost to the world as he listened to the last word's his parents had left him.

**Dear Harry,**

**Hopefully when you are reading this, we will be right next to you having a good laugh over our paranoia and your mum will no doubt be smacking me for showing you such a depressing thing. In fact she's doing it right now. But if you are reading this alone, then what we have feared has come to pass, and this is all you have left of us. So remember, listen to your father's last word's and follow it to the letter. You must play quidditch, Slytherin are mostly scumbags who cannot be trusted on the field of quidditch or off for that matter and you must marry a pretty redhead! **_Do not listen to your father Harry! This is your mother speaking, know that no matter what you do, we will always be proud of you and love you._** You must be in Gryffindor!! **_Oh that man. Honestly I don't think your father will ever grow up. Harry the most important thing to us is that you are happy. We want to protect you from the bad things in the world and give you the best life we can Harry, but so much is going on that we fear we may not be there for you and you will have to face the world alone. But no matter what, just remember that we will always be watching over you._** Gryffindor!!!!!! **_Harry, there is a war going on, led by a maniac by the name of Voldermort. Your father and I are a part of a group of fighters outside the government officials who are doing battle against the dark wizards, but recently a prophecy has come to light concerning you that has forced us into hiding. _**The wording is a little iffy, and I'm not sure I really believe in prophecy's son, but better safe than sorry. The basic gist of it is, only you have the power to kill Voldermort Harry. If you are reading this letter alone, then most likely we were killed by that man. **_Under no circumstances are you to run off to try to avenge us Harry! You must prepare yourself before you can face that man! We have tried to the best of our ability to give you an edge, and hopefully it will be enough to give you what you need to win. Underneath this letter is a box with 2 potions. One of the potions is murky black, and know this Harry, no one must find out about that potion for it is illegal! By dipping a wand in the potion, you remove all ministry tracers on that wand, but it is imperative that you have two wands Harry. One wand will be for everyday usage so that the ministry won't get suspicious with your lack of magical ability, and one you will use to train yourself. I suggest you clean out the more powerful of the two wands, and keep it as an ace in the hole. I'll let your father explain the second potion. _**Harry, all joking aside, you have quite the destiny ahead of you, and no matter what happens, know that you have a proud mother and father. The prophecy says you will have a power the dark lord knows not, meaning you will have an edge he won't have. Trust me when I say this, insane though he is, Voldermort is extremely powerful, and there aren't many people who can go toe to toe with him in a fair fight. Dumbledore seems to believe that your secret weapon is love, but I highly doubt hugging and holding hands will kill the man when everything else thrown at him seems to have failed. The Potter family line is one of the 13 oldest families in the world, but along with that title comes a power only a Potter can possess. We have a bloodline trait known as the Boost. A normal wizard at your age has access to about 10-15 percent of their total power. As you reach magical adulthood, anywhere from age 15-18, you will double what magical access you have, ranging from 20 to 30 percent of your core. What the family bloodline does is it puts you into control of over 50 percent of your core power for however long your body can handle it. It only lasts a few moments, but in that time period, magic will literally saturate your bloodstream. Your speed and strength will be enhanced, allowing for faster and stronger movement, your magical spells will be bolstered, going above and beyond the normal effects it should have, your body will release a magical aura that dampens the effects of spells cast on you, allowing you to shrug off stunners and only getting a bruise from a bludgeoning hex that would have cracked your skull open. Your blood will be supercharged with magic, allowing you to heal at many times the normal rate, your wounds will begin to close and heal in minutes. Your mind will be accelerated by the magic, allowing you to think faster and react faster, so the world will seem to be moving slower in comparison. Of course, no Potter has accessed this power in at least 3 generations, and I'm only getting this out of the family records. **_This isn't a power to be messed with easily Harry, there are always consequences love, remember that! Though the boost gives you an incredible advantage over the normal wizard temporarily, you won't be able to hold it indefinitely. The whiplash from the use of the boost will leave you feeling tired and fatigued as if you had run for miles and your magical levels will drop by half for a few minutes before you recover. According to the journal your father found, Potter's have died in the past from using the powers. Another worrying factor is the mention of how addictive using the boost is. The feeling of being superhuman often has Potters in the past constantly overusing and not being able to stop using the boost until their body collapses from the stress. Use this power with caution Harry. _**From what I understand from the texts, your great-great-great-great-grandfather decided the use of the power was too dangerous when his youngest son succumbed to its addictive properties, and using a potion he blocked then next generation from being able to access their power, and it seems that the potion is still in effect even in your generation. Luckily, your mother is a genius in potions, and based on the ingredients used in the potion we have been able to reverse engineer the potion's properties. The slightly glowing pink potion will unlock your ability to Boost, but if you decide to lock away the powers again after you defeat the Lord Moldywort, then the original potion recipe can be found in the family vault. **_And Harry the power must be trained like everything else you will be learning. From what I have seen in the records, you will begin getting the Boost when you feel yourself in danger, most likely activated by adrenaline, but as you experience it more and more, you will begin to grasp how to call forth its power. Once you do, the hard part is learning how to stop. Most the time when you are learning to use the boost, you will simply stop when your body fails, but as you learn to call it willingly, you must force yourself to shut down the power willingly. Moderation in all things Harry! __**There isn't much else left to say, and hopefully we'll be there to help you along the way. If not, well no matter how short my life was, I was happy to have lived my life and had you Harry.. **__We love you so very much Harry._

_Love_

_Mum and _**Dad.**

Brushing aside his tears, Harry swept aside the coins underneath him and indeed there was the trunk his mother had mentioned. Carefully opening it, he looked inside and saw the two potions on top of a pile of books with a note taped onto the potions. Pulling it off, he read his mother's note.

_Harry love, we keyed this box to you so that only you can open it. You can use this box to keep small trinkets important to you in a safe place. There isn__'__t much else we can do to help you at this point. I would suggest you get some books on how to duel and a manual on possible dark creatures you may have to face. _

_Love mum_

Carefully, he placed the letter into the box along with the photo and shut the lid. Brushing the last of his tears aside, he turned around and walked back to the entrance where Hagrid and the goblin had respectfully stayed as he read his parent's letter. He had a lot to think about, his world had been turned upside down in the last 20 minutes, Lord Potter, Wizangot, secret family power, destiny to kill some maniac that had murdered his parents. Looks like the chances of him being in Africa without his shirt on was looking better and better.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a long day for Harry. Hell it'd been a long week. His initial exposure to the wizarding world had left his mind spinning, and as if learning he was a magical being wasn't enough, he found out that he was the savior of them as well. And now, after the trip down to his bank vault, another sledgehammer blow. He had a dormant power other wizards and witches did not, a power that just might give him the edge necessary to defeat a maniac he apparently destroyed but didn't kill when he was barely one. What a crap week.

Diagon alley had been a wonderful place, ten times more interesting then even Harry could have imagined as he walked down the street with Hagrid. He had gotten his school supplies as required by the list given to him by the gamekeeper: robes, hat (wtf. Did they actually wear these ridicules looking things?), dragon hide gloves, cauldron, potion ingredients, books, a trunk, and the giant had even been kind enough to get him a pet owl for his birthday. Said owl was currently perched on top of his wooden closet blinking her wide eyes at him. He'd have to think of a name soon, couldn't keep calling her, "Uhhh hey girl."

Currently the raven haired boy was sitting on his bed staring at the pinkish potion bottle set on his desk while fiddling mindlessly with his wand (not that one you pervs). It seemed this destiny stuff was dead on if what Olivander had to say was true. Brother wands with the nut-job who killed his parents and god knows how many others. He didn't know whether to snap it in two or take it as a sign that perhaps he was an equal to the psycho and did have a chance of actually bringing him down. If he was in fact not dead. Harry couldn't wrap his head around the idea of being dead but not dead. Was he a ghost? Some sort of invisible wrathful spirit that was following and watching him even as he sat here thinking? Creepy thought. Though that might explain all the bad luck that seemed to find its way onto his lap.

Placing his wand carefully down on the bed, Harry removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. Blinking at how blurry the world seemed without his spectacles, he smiled slightly to himself. Harry didn't have any friends growing up; Dudley saw to that. So having no human companionship, and certainly the Dursley's would never allow him to keep a pet, Harry had turned to the one thing that could not be scared away or denied him; books.

As soon as he could read to himself, the young boy had found his sanctuary in the library. It was the one place Dudley couldn't touch him and the one place the Dursley's wouldn't deny him as long as he did his chores and stayed out of sight. So he had read, he had learned, buried himself in texts and readings beyond the level of any middle schooler. If most people knew how much the boy read, they wouldn't be surprised by his thick glasses. Harry preferred not to show it, but he was quite intelligent. Having read books of all kinds since a young age, his mind was expanded well beyond what his 11 years of experience should have taught him. He had learned not to show that intelligence as it often earned him sound punishment for beating Dudley in school work, so he kept his head down, earned barely passing grades, but all the while assimilating more knowledge through his own self study.

He had taught himself math through the textbooks available at the local library. Already when most his peers were barely grasping the concepts of algebra, Harry was already solving calculus problems that would stump most high school students. He had a keen interest in science, having taught himself biology physics and chemistry in his free time. If he wanted, Harry might have actually been ready to attend college! But he chose to keep this to himself. He knew that grades didn't really matter until high school, and by then he would stop holding back because that would have affected his chances at getting into a good college and getting out of the Dursley household. Of course that plan had been shot to hell like a quail in Alabama during hunting season when the letter from Hogwarts showed up.

Putting his glasses back on, Harry continued musing about his life up until this point in time where he sat in front of the potion bottle contemplating his choices. He came to one conclusion; he would do anything to get out of the prison he had been forced to grow up in, even take the risk of having to fight a madman to the death in the future. Nodding his head decisively, the boy stood up and walked over to his rickety desk. Picking up the slightly radioactive looking bottle he uncorked it and took a whiff of the potion.

It smelled oddly metallic, like sniffing crushed altoid powder. His owl hooted balefully at him as he closed his eyes. "Cheers."

Opening his mouth, Harry swallowed the contents of the bottle in one big gulp. It felt like he had poured liquid metal down his gullet, a smooth yet solid sensation that left him wanting to wretch and cough at the same time. When his stomach had finally settled down, he swallowed his spittle and tasted a tangy copper taste similar to blood. Staring down at himself he tried to see any difference. Seeing nothing, he removed his shirt and stood in front of his slightly cracked full body mirror his aunt had discarded when Dudley had thrown his toy at the thing in a tantrum over food. He didn't look any different, and certainly he didn't feel any different. Maybe the potion had an expiration date and it was past? Frowning, Harry was reaching for his shirt when it happened.

A hot burning sensation filled his body, not painful, but a rather empowering feeling. And suddenly, Harry was a different person. It felt like he could do anything, anything in the world. Staring at himself in the mirror, he immediately noticed that his formerly skinny body was not quite so skinny anymore. He wouldn't be named Mr. Universe anytime soon, but the change in muscle structure was definitely noticeable. Where as before his arms had been rather thin, they were now slightly bulging, as if engorged by blood. His calves having been forced to grow to their limit from running away from Dudley and his little gang were even better defined, and his shoulders seemed broader too.

Harry could feel his accelerated heart beating frantically as if trying to escape from his ribcage, yet despite that he felt great. His mind felt clearer, as if he had been walking around with a fog covering his brain all his life, and his sharp hearing caught the sound of a fly buzzing slowly in his room. Turning around, he pinpointed the bug and marveled at how slow it was moving. He could see each sluggish wing beat the creature made as it moved in slow motion as if the air itself had been changed to mud. Now curious, Harry turned to look at the slightly cracked alarm clock on his bedside table and gaped at how slowly the second hand moved. 10 seconds felt like a minute to Harry. Squatting down, he squirmed under his bed and braced his hands on the underside of the cot. Pressing upwards, he easily lifted the 200 plus pounds of mattress and wood as if it weighed no more then 10. Getting back out from under his bed, he noticed that it had taken him barely 4 seconds to do that. Turning around, he looked into the mirror and stared at the glowing form that seemed to be studying him in turn.

And as suddenly as it had come, it was gone. The godlike feeling disappeared, replaced by fatigue. His heart was hammering painfully against his chest, and Harry fell to his knees gasping for air as blood pounded in his ear. He felt like he had just run to London and back without stopping, and his heart was currently trying to prove it to him. His muscles ached horribly as if he had been toiling away in his Aunt's garden all day long, and it was with a pained effort that Harry managed to drag himself onto the bed he had so casually lifted moments before.

As he fell asleep, only one thought echoed in his mind. Double edged sword indeed.

Harry woke up and blinked blearily about himself. Sometime during his sleep he had taken off his glasses and he couldn't help but wonder why he felt so exhausted. Sitting up the events of the night slowly came back to him. He had taken the potion and it had unlocked the Boost. He had felt like a god last night, like nothing could stop him, not even death. The crash afterwards had left him feeling less like a god, and more like a bum who had been hit by a car and pissed on by the paramedics who was supposed to save him but had mugged his broken body before doing said urination. And he still felt it now even as he hauled his worn out body out of bed.

Frowning, the boy called upon his knowledge from his studies to analyze what had happened. He had felt stronger, and had definitely been stronger with the boost activated. Kneeling down, he tried to shift his bed again, but couldn't even budge it. His muscles had been more defined, as if blood had flooded the tissue, and certainly that would explain his increased heart rate. Harry had read somewhere before that human muscles usually were only limited to a certain percentage of its actual potential. If the muscles were ever to reach its 100% capability, that person would seem to have superhuman strength. But constantly operating at such a level would not only damage the muscles, but would also tear the bones apart, which was why most people didn't walk around with the ability to bench-press a car.

But the strength of each individual varied, larger muscles would have greater potential, just as if a toddler were to access it's full capacity, it still wouldn't be much stronger then your average adult with their cut down muscle power. If Harry got stronger, it would stand to reason that during the boost, his muscles would be stronger too. Greater muscle strength also meant that they would be able to handle more stress and recover faster, meaning that he would feel less like crap after using the boost once he became more fit. Indeed the fact that his much more in shape legs aching less then his upper body seemed to support this assumption.

His heartbeat had been another matter altogether. It had been beating so fast during the Boost Harry was surprised he hadn't died of a heart attack. He'd have to be careful on how long he kept the Boost going; otherwise he might damage his heart and expire from cardiac arrest. The slowing down of time was more then likely just a perception thing, his mind had been flooded with blood allowing it to receive information at a much faster rate then normal, which made time seem to slow down when in fact his mind was just reacting faster to his senses. Kind of like having your 500 MB hard drive computer suddenly working at a 120 Gig level. The difference is noticeable, very noticeable.

His parent's letter had mentioned more powerful spells, but Harry hadn't had the time to test that theory, plus he didn't know any magic yet. Well he could sort of force colored sparks out of his wands when he concentrated, maybe he could try that under the Boost. The aura his father had mentioned was present and supposedly it'd lower the harmful effects of spells cast upon him. Harry had no intention of testing this particular ability anytime soon. The accelerated healing didn't seem to apply after the boost was over, otherwise he wouldn't feel like he'd just climbed out of a car that got run over by a train.

Hobbling over to the mirror, Harry noticed he was still partially undressed. Half naked, but not yet quite to Africa. Shaking his sleep clouded mind, he tried to recall the feeling of the Boost. Standing there trying to recreate the godly sensation during the Boost left Harry feeling kind of silly, so instead the boy tried recalling the feel of the magic coursing through his veins. Still no luck. Finally after half an hour of intense concentration and staring at the funny faces he was making, he gave up. He'd have to figure out how to use the Boost later. Checking the time, he was startled to see it was nearly noon. Why hadn't Aunt Petunia broken down the door and demanded he fix breakfast? Oh right they thought he could turn them all into pigs now. He wouldn't be correcting that misguided assumption anytime soon.

Shaking his head, Harry headed downstairs to the kitchen and noticed how quiet the house was. Normally Dudley would have the television on at this time and it wouldn't stop until lunch, and half the time lunch was spent in front of the T.V. anyways. Taking a quick detour around the house, Harry discovered that it was completely devoid of Dursleys. It seemed his family had taken off somewhere; perhaps to get the tail removed?

Harry stifled down laughter at the thought and went to the kitchen to fix himself lunch. A roast beef sandwich with some crisps and a tall glass of milk was quickly downed. If he was to go ahead with his body building plan, he'd have to start now. Seeing that it was slightly past noon and that there was nobody home, Harry decided now would be the perfect time to leave and do some personal shopping, but first he would have to get back to Diagon Alley. Headed back upstairs into his newly acquired room, he slipped under the bed where he had discovered the loose floorboard on his first sleepless night there. Using his fingernails, he wrenched the piece of wood out of place, and reached into the small hole inside, withdrawing a stack of bills that would have left Dudley drooling.

The library hadn't only been his sanctuary; it had also been his source of income. Years spent inside reading had him well acquainted with the librarians that worked there, and all of them loved seeing the young boy inside. So when he had asked if there was any way he could earn money, they had banded together and paid him out of their own pockets for him to help them sort the returned books in the backroom. Harry had accumulated quite a sum of cash during the last two years of working on and off, well enough to pay for the more then occasional meal he had outside the Dursley household. He definitely had more than enough to get a cab ride down to London.

A quick phone call followed by a 10 minute wait in front of the television, and Harry was on his way to Diagon Alley. After being dropped off in front of the entrance to the wizarding shopping plaza, the boy put on a cap he had nicked from Dudley's room. If people reacted anything like they had when he had first arrived in the Leaky Cauldron, then the disguise would no doubt help him finish his shopping much quicker. Slinking inside the dimly lit pub, he nodded at the hunchback barkeep and hurried out back before anyone could take a closer look at him. Recalling exactly which brick Hagrid had tapped to open the gateway into wizarding world, Harry pulled out his new wand and gave the stone an experimental jab. Instantly the stonework began shifting, and once more Harry was exposed to the grandeurs of Diagon Alley. Having come on a weekend with Hagrid, Harry was surprised to see that the street was just as packed with witches and wizards on a weekday. Guess wizarding folks had more time on their hands then their muggle counterparts.

Moving swiftly through the crowds, Harry made his way towards Gringotts making sure not to bump into anyone and draw undue attention to himself. Entering the majestic if somewhat intimidating building, the young hero marched up to an open counter purposefully.

"I would like to make a withdrawal from my account and have some of the money changed to pounds."

The goblin at the desk stared down his long crooked nose imperiously at the green eyed boy. "Key please" it stated in an unimpressed voice.

"Uhh." Well this was awkward. Hagrid had been the one to show the key last time, and he must have forgotten to give it to Harry when they parted ways. "I don't have it with me."

"No key, no money" sneered the goblin.

"Can't you just take my blood to prove who I am?" Harry winced as he remembered being jabbed in the thumb by Griphook's dirk.

"Hmm a masochist eh?" The goblin withdrew a familiar looking blade and indicated for Harry's hand with a sadistic smile. Sighing, the boy reached forward preparing himself for the slight pain that would follow. A larger then necessary cut later and the goblin had the blood needed. Pulling out a blank sheet of parchment, the goblin allowed a drop of to fall onto the paper.

Immediately thin scratchy handwriting began to fill the paper, and Harry stood up on tiptoes to try to catch a glimpse of what it said, but the goblin snapped his fingers and the parchment burst into flames. "Well Mr. Potter, it would seem that you have access to the trust fund only at this point in time. I'll have Bladefoot take you down to your vault, and we'll have the exchange done afterwards. I would advise you to bring your key for your next visit, or at least bring your own blade."

Still curious as to what had been written on the parchment, the boy grunted an acknowledgement and followed a surely looking goblin to the transports. The ride down was much more pleasant without a carsick Hagrid threatening to blow chunks on his back, and 20 minutes later he was back at the lobby with a refilled moneybag.

"And how much muggle money will you be needing Mr. Potter?"

"Give me 1000 pounds in cash please." The goblin behind the desk began counting out bills swiftly and professionally as if he had done it all his life. Perhaps he had. Harry had to swallow a snicker as an image of an infant goblin counting money popped into his head. It was still ugly as hell, even as a baby.

"10 galleons will be removed from your trust fund by the next business day Mr. Potter. Will there be anything else?"

"Yes actually. The muggles have something called a credit card. It allows them to-"

"I am well aware of what a credit card is and its function Mr. Potter" interrupted the goblin snidely.

"Err well yes. I was wondering if the wizarding world had something similar I could use? Constantly having to return to the bank to get money seems a bit inconvenient, especially since I can't get away from my home very often."

The goblin gave sharp dry laugh. "Of course the goblin nation could have implemented such a system long ago. But if you wizards weren't forced to come to Gringotts every time you needed money, we wouldn't be able to tax you for your withdrawals or charge you for the cart ride down. And of course the wizarding world feels itself far too superior to even consider having a much more effective muggle system replace their archaic ways, so we are happy to tax you arrogant bastards."

Harry scratched his head and frowned at the lizardtoid in front of him. Sounded like the goblins didn't hold wizards in much regard.

"But as the head of an old wizarding family, we do offer a method for withdrawal much like the muggle checking system for you. Unfortunately, it takes the family ring print instead of a signature to make the check official, and you won't be in possession of your family ring until you are of age. I'm afraid you'll have to keep paying the toll for at least another 6 years Mr. Potter." The nasty laugh that followed left him wondering just how much the goblins charged him for the cart ride down.

Nodding at the unpleasant looking goblin, Harry left the bank and headed out towards the shopping area. He needed to get his second wand, and perhaps a quick look around the shops again wouldn't hurt. Now that he was here without supervision, he could buy what he wanted without an adult breathing down his neck. Seeing how crowded the streets were, Harry decided to head down a less crowded avenue, one with the sign Knockturn Alley hanging over it.

Immediately upon entering the street, Harry noticed a vast difference in both the shops and the shoppers. All of the bargain hunters seem to be looking down at their feet and moving swiftly along as if not wanting to delay for even a moment. The shops were all dingy looking, not the rustic and antiquated look of the shops down Diagon alley, but an old battered look resulting from improper care and exposure to the harsh elements. Many of the stores also had tinted or even blacked out windows, hiding whatever merchandise they had to offer. Harry shivered as he noticed a group of shady looking individuals who were eyeing his still form in the street, and hurriedly decided to move on.

Slipping down the street, he entered the shop claiming to be Vlad's Quality Wands. Like all the other shops in the alley, the widows were dyed pitch black, and Harry could just make out the shadowed form of a few shelves inside. Entering the shop, the boy peered around the dimness looking for a clerk of some sort, and nearly jumped out of his skin as a pale bloodshot eyed man materialized out of the gloom.

"Well aren't you a bit young to be shopping in Knockturn Alley alone boy?" His voice was silky smooth, and he lisped heavily as he spoke, all the while eyeing Harry like a juicy steak waiting to be devoured. What a queer.

"I shop where I like." His voice sounded a lot braver then Harry felt, but he knew showing a sign of weakness would be a bad move. He'd rather not get raped and have his dead body dumped in some random dark alleyway.

The pale man chuckled and his lips twisted into a sinister smile that looked very much in place on his sickly face. "Well I assume you want a wand boy?"

Seeing him nod, the shopkeeper began heading towards the shelves where the boxes were stacked. "You will find very excellent wand in my shop here in Knockturn Alley. Unlike the fool Olivander, I am more then willing to experiment with the darker shades of magical wand crafting. I don't follow the guidelines as strictly as that half-fae does, and you will find that if you get a match with any of my wands, that the results would be very spectacular, very spectacular indeed."

"Half-fae?" questioned Harry at the turned back of the storekeeper.

"Hmm yes, the old man likes to keep that quiet. The wizarding world tends to look down upon anything less then human, but I believe his great grandfather was an elf. Not those pitiful ass slaves you wizards use in your households to satisfy whatever sick needs you may have, but a true elf. It's not a wonder the bastard has lived as long as I have."

Harry quickly decided he really didn't want to know. The shopkeeper looked like a vampire if he had to judge based on what little knowledge he had, and he didn't want to piss the man off and get eaten.

The pale owner retuned with a stack of boxes in his hands and removed a pitch black wand before handing it to Harry. "12 inches, crafted from the branches of a Womping Willow, cored with a shard of Soul Crystal and dipped in the blood of a female Manticore in heat."

Touching it, Harry would feel a surge of power, but the wand did not react in any visible way. Before he could even try to wave it, Harry had the outstretched wand snatched back by the vampiric looking man. Rummaging through the boxes, the master craftsman passed over another wand, this one a shade of dark green.

"10 and a half inches, stripped from hide of an Ent, empowered by Dragon heartstring of a Horntail and infused with powdered silver used to take the life of a fully transformed alpha werewolf." Giving the emerald wand a wave he found that he didn't feel anything at all for this particular piece.

"Third times the charm boy." Reaching into another box, the man withdrew a silver wand and stroked it lovingly while staring intently at the piece of wood. "This was a very hard to craft wand boy. If this is indeed your match, you will find that I will charge you an arm and a leg for this" he hissed. The wand crafter passed it to Harry hilt first. "11 and a half inches, bark taken from the base of a Monarch of the Damned, cored with the fur of a Nandu and dipped in Basilisk venom mixed with the blood of a Siren. Try. Break it and I will break you."

Fighting back a shiver under the intense gaze of the wand merchant, Harry grasped the offered rod. A surge of power filled his body giving him a divine feeling much similar to the Boost. The silver wand shuddered and the room seemed to darken even further before a haunting wail echoed throughout the darkened shop. Harry had to fight to stay conscious as the angelic melody faded to silence. His vision cleared and met the calculating gaze of the wand maker.

"You are destined to do great things boy. Remember to recommend my shop after you have become a legend. I'll make more money of you yet."

Uncertain as to what he should say, Harry decided to question the man on the makeup of his wand instead. "What's a Monarch of the Damned?"

The wand crafter began putting away the boxes he had taken off the shelves and ignored his question until he finished replacing all the wands in their previous positions. "In the far south on a chain of islands that remain unplotted by muggles and unsullied by wizards, there lives a species of trees that are almost extinct. In fact the tree from which I took the bark to create your wand may very well be the last of its kind. It's a tree that kills everything it touches and all that comes near it."

"A killer tree?"

"Yes, it's a parasitic tree that grows to take over the entire island that it calls home, and leeches the soil dry of all nutrients killing off all other plant life in its vicinity. Without the plants, the animals die, and their decaying bodies feed the soil which in turns feeds the tree. Any and all who approach the Monarch breathe in a sweet nectar like scent that lulls the weak willed into an eternal slumber from which they will never wake. Their unnourished body will eventually perish, and the decaying flesh will fertilize the earth which in turn ends up feeding the Monarch's unending hunger."

The raven haired boy stared down at his new wand in silent contemplation. "How did you get the bark without dieing?"

The man gave a barking laugh and walked behind the cashier counter. "I nearly did. Young and foolish I was a centuries past, and I believed I could conquer the Monarch where all others failed and paid the ultimate price for their failure. Only through sheer willpower and self mutilation did I manage to return from the cursed island." He raised his hand and showed Harry the horrifying mass of scar tissue that adorned his palm. There was a matching network of scars on the back of his hand.

"Remember this boy. Pain is a good motivator. When love and hate have fled you, pain will always be there to remind you of why you wish to live." The rather dramatic silence that fell over the two was ruined by the shopkeeper's next declaration. "That will be 134 galleons."

Harry's jaws dropped. That was 13,400 pounds! "Bloody Christ! That's open robbery!"

"There are no more Monarch trees left in the world! You hold a unique wand that will never be replicated again. Either you pay the money or you leave. I did not risk life and limb to have my creation haggled away to nothing!"

Staring down at the piece of wood in his hand, he recalled the haunting cry he had heard. He sighed. This had better help him kill Voldermort. Fishing into his money pouch, he withdrew the correct amount and handed it over to the man. His other wand had cost him 7 bloody sickles!

"Tell you what; I'll throw in a free wand care kit and dragon hide holster." Ducking under the counter, the man came back up with a small box and a leather band. Opening the case he showed Harry the bottles of Varnish and protective coating and a shimmering rag that seemed to partway vanish every time it was moved.

"Take care of your wand, and your wand will take care of you." After showing Harry how to properly care for the expensive magical focus, he closed the tiny container and snatched Harry's outstretched hand before the boy could object. Wrapping the leather piece around his lower forearm, he tightened the strap painfully and placed the wand on the underside of the holder.

"Dragon hide is extremely resistant to magic so there is no chance of you having your wand summoned out of that holster. Just give your hand a violent flick and the wand will appear in your hand."

Flicking his hand as instructed, Harry had to wonder if the man was just kidding when nothing appeared in his palm. The shopkeeper rolled his eyes. "What are you a little girl? Harder boy!"

A more aggressive flick of his hand this time caused the wand to appear as if by… magic.

"Take care of the wand, or I'll hunt you down and make sure your body is never found." As the man vanished back into the gloom of the shop, Harry had no doubt the man meant every word of his threat.

At last stepping back into sunlight, he felt a sigh of relief escape his lips. The shop had been oppressive and more then a little intimidating. Shaking away the willies, Harry scanned the street and spotted a suspicious (well to be honest all the shops looked a little suspicious) bookshop. Crossing the rather empty street he entered into the surprisingly brightly lit store. The tinted windows had hidden the cheery glow that filled the shop, and the smiling woman behind the counter didn't look like she belonged in a place like Knockturn Alley.

"Welcome to Milow's Bookshop. We have used, lost, and new books. Feel free to take a look around and see what you like. I'll be here if you need any help." Feeling comfortable in such a familiar setting, Harry instantly set off amongst the bookshelves lost in his own little world. There were thousands of books to choose from, each as interesting if not more so then the last. After spending the better part of 2 hours browsing, Harry had decided upon a few purchases.

Dueling, Beyond Just the Wand had a lot of interesting methods for training oneself in the art of dueling. There was almost no spell work taught in the book, but instead it educated the reader on different methods for dodging spells and how to move in to corner your opponent. There was brief section on physical combat with detailed moving diagrams, and half the book was dedicated towards the varying methods of exercise one should complete on a workout routine to keep in shape for professional dueling. The last chapter was dedicated to nutrition, and Harry knew he would need all of it if he planned to get in shape for using the Boost without killing himself.

Another book he had decided to buy was the Monster's Manuel Volume VII A 654 page tome that had information on just about every magical creature known to wizard kind. There were detailed explanations of each creature, its habits, its strengths, its weaknesses, and any quirks you should know about them. Following the description was a picture of the monster itself, a moving picture that usually seemed hell-bent on attacking the reader. The book was bound by what appeared to be an albino tiger's pelt, and easily weighed more then 10 pounds.

Duelist's Encyclopedia of Spells was a dictionary of spells that taught the reader how to cast it, the effects, and gave a reference to any other spell that could counter it. There were two pictures following the page of description, one showing a witch or wizard casting the spell with all the correct wand movements necessary. The other was usually a picture of something, or occasionally even someone on the receiving end of the spell. Harry nearly lost his lunch when he had glanced at the effects of the Iscarot curse. The man had literally been turned inside out, and by the way his organs quivered, he was very much alive.

There were many more books Harry would have loved to get his hands on, but he decided that for now, those three books would be the only ones he could possibly use with his level of education. Ringing up his purchase, the counter lady cheerfully charmed his bags to be featherlight and charged him 13 galleons and 7 sickles for his books. Thanking the woman, Harry left the shop and decided to leave Knockturn Alley for now. It was almost 4 P.M., and he still wanted to make a few purchases in downtown London before going back to the Dursley's. Heading back into the Leaky Cauldren, again he nodded to the barkeep before exiting into the muggle world.

Flagging down a checkered taxi, he told the driver the location. A short 15 minute ride later, Harry left the taxi with a lighter wallet into the shopping area his aunt frequented. The first stop was the glasses shop he had visited 6 year prior to get his current spectacles. Entering, he was greeted by a cheerful brunette who had been lounging about watching her coworkers help the customers inside.

"Welcome to Sight For Sore Eyes mate. What can I do you for?"

"I'd like to get my eyesight checked and a new set of glasses."

Examining his poorly taken care of and scotch taped together glasses, the girl chuckled. "Well you came to the right place if you wanted to upgrade your rims. Follow me please."

Following her, Harry entered the back of the shop through the closed door marked Eye Doctor. "Don't suppose we have you on record do we?"

"Maybe, I'm not sure. Check under Harry Potter." Sitting in front of the machine that checked eyesight for patients, he watched the young woman tap away on the computer.

"Ah yes we do have one Potter Harry on record, 6 years ago this day in fact! You should really get your eyes checked more often; you must be half blind in those old things."

She bustled out from behind the computer and came to the gizmo in front of Harry. "Now I'm going to test your vision, and you can tell me which one is clearer. Lean forward please." After 5 minutes of testing, the vision care specialist printed out a recording and led Harry back out to the shop front. "Now just pick out your favorite pair of rims, and we'll get it done for you in 2 hours or it's 50% off."

Harry headed towards the front of the store where he had spotted a set of glasses similar to the ones his father had been wearing in the photograph. The thin wired rim and narrow lenses looked good on his face, and the woman helping him voiced as much to his embarrassment.

"Okey doke. You pay half now, and 2 hours later you come back and pay the other half and the glasses are yours. That will be 60 pounds please."

Forking over the money, Harry left the shop and headed towards the clothing district. Having lived his entire life off Dudley's second hand stuff, he was determined to at last own something that fit his body size. An hour and half later, he had added some shorts, and jeans to his wardrobe. He also bought some T-shirts and long sleeves, most of them were plain colors without logos since he really didn't know much about fashion, and added a jacket for the winter. Heading back towards the vision care store, Harry was sidetracked by an exercise shop that had caught his interest.

Entering the store, a well muscled tanned man greeted him. "Welcome to Pro Fitness little man. You look like you could use some meat on your bones!"

Embarrassed by how skinny he must have looked compared to the man in front of him, Harry put down his purchases and rubbed his head sheepishly. "I don't suppose you could help me with that?"

The bronze retailer laughed and showed Harry around the store. Most the equipment sold were for weight training, but a few caught Harry's interest. The body weights were useful as they could be worn without being seen and would keep him in shape just by wearing them rather then needing to work out. He grabbed the 5 pound wrist weights and ankle weights, and added an exercise band with 3 levels of difficulty to it. Spotting a pair of wrist exercise clamps, he recalled how Dueling Beyond the Wand had mentioned that having a strong wrist was important for spell casting. Adding those to his possible purchases, he headed towards the counter where his host was currently ringing up another customer.

After buying what he wanted, he checked the wristwatch he had taken from Dudley's room and realized it was time to pick up his new glasses. Entering the store, he walked over to where the woman who had helped him earlier was sitting. Looking up from the magazine she was reading, she smiled down at Harry before pulling out an eyeglasses case. Opening it, Harry removed his old gasses and placed on the new ones. The improvement was quite noticeable, the world seemed sharper and more in focus. Handing over 60 more pounds, Harry left the shop with a free lens care kit and a sound scolding to return every year instead waiting half a decade to have his eyes checked.

Flagging down another taxi, Harry and the driver hauled his bags into the trunk of the car and headed back towards Private Drive. The sun was setting by the time Harry arrived home, and a quick peak through the windows showed that the house was still empty. Sneaking inside quietly, Harry put away all his new purchases and headed back towards the kitchen. While fixing himself dinner he noticed a sticky note he had missed earlier in the afternoon.

_Gone to General Hospital to have Dudley's tail removed. Back by Monday. Do not destroy the house!_

_Aunt Petunia_

Content in knowing that he would be alone for the next 3 days, Harry plopped down in front of the television and ate his dinner of spaghetti and instant mashed potatoes. Having finished dinner, he headed back upstairs to his room and rooted through his trunk until he found the second potion his parents had left behind. Pouring the murky liquid onto an old baking pan he had found in the oven, he stared at the mercuric looking liquid. Removing his new wand with a flick of his wrist, he gently placed the 134 galleon focusing rod into the tar like substance. Orange smoke wafted off the wood and an acidic smell filled the room causing his owl to hoot disapprovingly. When at last the smoke cleared, the dark liquid had turned a milky white and felt like the excretion from a cow's udder when he dipped his finger in it. The wand looked no different then it had before once Harry removed and dried it. Studying the wand in his hand, Harry tried to feel a difference, but couldn't decipher any change.

Shrugging and taking his parents word for it, he opened the window to allow his pet owl to leave the room and go hunting before removing his new glasses and plopping onto his bed. It had been a long day, and the coming month would be spent in grueling study. This was either going to be the longest summer of his life, or the shortest.


End file.
